


Enough

by skerb



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Advice, Brother Feels, Feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jokes, Papyrus (Undertale) Needs a Hug, References to Depression, Rejection Sensitivity, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/pseuds/skerb
Summary: Papyrus struggles through self-worth issues. Sans helps.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 99





	Enough

When Sans comes home, he probably isn’t expecting his brother to be lying on the floor in their living room, the lights all on, staring at the ceiling. He probably also doesn’t expect for his brother not to say a word as he flicks off the light, meanders over, and silently sits down on the floor to join him.

Without meaning to sound so brusque, Papyrus says, “Thanks.”

Sans shrugs to himself. It’s a habit of his. Better to say nothing than to risk saying the wrong thing, not when Papyrus is in one of his moods.

But Papyrus isn’t like this often. He projects too much fastidiousness to open himself up to this point that something might be wrong. The dog is definitely new, curled against his side like an oversized rat that sheds everywhere. Like their own winter wonderland, but smellier.

Sans is probably waiting for him to say something. He slinks down to the floor beside him, the clunk of his heavy zipper landing against the carpet. He stretches out, content to stare up at the ceiling with Papyrus.

He appreciates that. He appreciates Sans. Sans, who doesn’t poke or badger him, who encourages him and lights up with genuine delight whenever Papyrus talks about his latest plans. Like he never gets tired of him.

Or at least, Papyrus has been thinking that he might be. Just a little. Directionless, without a plan, without a goal. They had moved because Sans can’t handle the crowds anymore and because Papyrus was tired of missed opportunities. It had dragged down on him, missed point after missed point, knocking down his confidence until he was… well.

Here. On the floor. It should be enough, right? It should definitely be enough that Sans has his back. And while he wasn’t so in love with the dog, it served as a distraction enough times to be a family member.

The spackled ceiling starts to bloom out into muted tones of grey on white, so Papyrus closes his eyes to give his brain a rest. Maybe if he just doesn’t think about it, it’ll go away. He’s never been able to un-discourage himself by staying awake at night, pondering on how to tackle it. It eventually recedes. It just takes… time.

But instead of getting better, it seems to be getting worse. He’s not able to ignore it like the sock three feet from his head, nor the dust bunny living in their hall closet. It curls dark fingers around his soul, squeezing with a gentleness would’ve been almost comforting if it wasn’t so familiarly scary.

He’s always been useful. In fact, in a lot of ways, being useful was the only way he felt fulfillment. It was his existence. But lately, it’s like it isn’t enough. Or that regardless of how hard he tried, things just went unnoticed. No matter how much he put his heart and soul into things, he began to feel emptier and emptier until he was left shaking the last few drops from his cup.

He just wants a little recognition. Just a little.

Sure, Sans praises him. It should be enough. It’s different to want from other people, when all his life Papyrus has struggled with acceptance. It’s frustrating and at the same time, he feels guilty for wanting more. With at least one person rooting for him… that’s all that should matter.

…Right?

Papyrus knows he’s circling around bad thoughts. That it won’t help despite how much he tries to fend them away. He hasn’t bothered to leave the house. He hasn’t quite sabotaged the attempts at socialising, but he’s avoided anyone that crossed his path.

He’s not making it any better. He knows this. He’s making it worse.

It doesn’t come to a surprise that Sans isn’t on his phone right now. He’s probably listening to the silence, waiting as the termites in Papyrus’s psyche vie for his bruised ego.

Why try if no one sees what he puts his heart into. Why bother when he doesn’t get the recognition he feels he needs. When stimulus is lacking in everyday life, what else is there?

Papyrus…

He doesn’t know how to ask for help with this.

Sans makes a noise low in his throat. It’s one of those tics he has when he’s been thinking or has something to say. Chances are Papyrus doesn’t know how to let him know that he’s not up for talking just now. He’d rather just become one with the carpet.

Sans’s zipper jingles against the floor as he raises his arm, probably to scratch somewhere. “I’m thinkin’ of swiss cheese.”

Papyrus knows he’s not getting out of this without a fight, but he already feels drained. Part of him wants to roll over and go upstairs to the comfort and darkness of his room, but he’s feeling very… not great at moving at the moment.

He relents. “Why are you thinking of Swiss cheese.”

Sans’s arm drops between them with another small jangle. “Because I’m thinking about how they get the holes in there. Do they use a paper punch? A cheese punch?” Sans pauses, his voice low and a little groggy. “This might be a weird analogy. What are you thinking of?”

“I think you’ve been eating too many cheeses with holes in them,” Papyrus mutters to the inside of his skull.

“Hm. Maybe,” his brother assents. “I think maybe what I’m trying to get at is that… the holes are already there.”

Papyrus keeps his eyes closed. He knows Sans worries. He has his weird quirks just like he has his ways of dealing with things but sometimes, people asking if something is wrong is too much. Sans has a way of finding out what’s bothering him without even asking. He just… kind of knows.

“And adding holes to the cheese kind of… gets rid of more cheese, right?”

…He knows, and it hurts a little.

“So, maybe… it’s ok to have some holes. But don’t go trying to cut ‘em out. We can’t all be ricotta.”

…

“Does that make sense?” Sans hums a quiet little laugh. “Hell if I know.”

Papyrus opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. He finds himself talking. Not his usual excited, peppy self, but lower, on the verge of a whisper. “I think I know what you’re getting at.”

Sans turns his head slightly to glance at him, but when Papyrus turns his head back, he’s eased back into his previous position. He has an arm bent behind his head, his legs up and reclined over the couch’s seats. It looks impossibly uncomfortable.

“If I must say it,” Papyrus continues quietly, “I might be punching out little holes. Just a little. Hoping that someone-”

_ No, that feels wrong to say. _ It’s not what he means. He’s mixing up how to process his emotions again, and he might hurt someone if he does. Papyrus falls silent.

After a while, Sans takes that as his cue. “It’s ok, buddy.” It’s a warm encouragement. Like liquid sunlight. Normally it makes Papyrus so happy, so relieved. Right now, it feels stale and empty, like Papyrus can’t process it properly.

Wasted effort. He’s wasting his brother’s time, energy, and attention. Frustrated at the longing pit in his heart of hearts, Papyrus mentally beats back the urge to wallow in self-pity and closes his eyes again.

“It’s alright, Paps,” Sans tries again. He must reach out, as Papyrus can feel warm bone on his skull, curled around it just so. Sans’s arm brackets Papyrus’s head, giving him a little squeeze for comfort. Comfort that Papyrus doesn’t feel worthy of, but he’ll squirrel away and soak it up because he needs it and with such intensity, too.

“C’n I say somethin’?”

Papyrus nods a little. He trusts Sans. He’s always careful when he’s got advice to give. Sometimes he likes to play games, but Papyrus is always prepared for that on some level.

“It’s ok to want better,” Sans starts quietly. His words shoot through Papyrus’s soul like a dart, the wellspring of emotion too sudden for him to keep a hold on things. “It’s ok to feel upset when what you try to do goes unnoticed. I know.”

Papyrus’s throat goes dry and tight. He gives a short nod. It feels stupid and surreal that it’s out there, his fears and his limitations on grand display. He wants to hide away until they fade into obscurity, until he and his brother make jokes at each other and give one another a hard time.

Not trusting himself, Papyrus gives another shaky nod. He knows Sans tried. He knows his brother tried until he was so afraid of failure that he was one crack away from breaking. That when Papyrus told him that it was ok to give up sometimes, it meant the whole world to Sans.

Sans pays it forward. He always has. He’s always been enough.

“You give and you give until you break, then what,” Sans almost scoffs, but Papyrus can tell it’s in that good-natured way of his, Sans’s grin easy and fond. “If you go out and try to be better for people who wouldn’t give you the time of day? Fuck ‘em.”

Papyrus snorts despite himself, a disgusting, teary thing that reveals too much how affected by Sans’s words he is. He keeps his eyes glued on the ceiling. If he focuses hard enough, the pits in the spackle start to look like constellations.

“Do things for you, buddy. For your happiness. If things get tough, it’s ok not to pursue it if it hurts. Or just give it a tiny break if you feel overwhelmed. If you start to do things and rely on others for that little bit of emotional validation, well…” Sans huffs a sigh, like he knows it first-hand all too well. He does. “The things you do out of love will start to mean less to you over time.”

“Really,” Papyrus mumbles. It sounds flat, but it’s only because he’s trying so hard not to hiccough like a small child.

“Yeah,” Sans replies, his voice bare. “You wanna talk more?”

Yes. “No.”

Sans pivots his body to look at him. Papyrus isn’t doing that. He closes his eyes before any of his own body language betrays him when his brother asks, “Can I say one more thing?”

Papyrus lingers on the silence for a while longer. He swallows the knot formed in his throat, threatening to choke him if he dares to speak. He gives a slight nod, hoping that it’s enough.

“Yeah? Thanks, Paps.” Papyrus can hear the genuine warmth in Sans’s voice and smile. “I think that… if you want to do something, you should do it. That no matter how small or insignificant something might seem, the fact that you put so much time and effort into what you do really speaks volumes about how much it means to you.”

Papyrus swallows very carefully, a hot wash starting to build behind his eyes.

“It matters because it means something to you. And to others, you know. If not now, you’ll see it eventually. Hard work pays off, and I can tell you’re working yourself, uh…” He can hear the grin in Sans’s voice again. “Down to the bone?”

Papyrus sniffs wetly and throws his arm out, catching it on Sans’s chest. His brother hoots out something between a grunt and a laugh, delicately rubbing at his ribs.

“Sorry,” Sans snickers. When he speaks next, Papyrus knows, can  _ feel _ that it’s true. “The next time you feel blue, talk to me, ok? I’ll help keep you focused.”

Papyrus doesn’t doubt that. He considers what Sans said for a while and huffs out an abrupt sigh, like the heavy weight of guilt can be lifted from his chest with that one meaningless gesture.

“You always do, Sans.”

He’s always been enough.


End file.
